


Trust me

by drunkbedelia



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: F/F, Miranda: now with additional lesbian backstory, drunk cassie, knife holding miranda, the Dynamic of I am protecting you but also I might just murder you, this is more just about their Dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkbedelia/pseuds/drunkbedelia
Summary: With one forceful tug, Miranda gripped Cassie's hair and shoved her against the bathroom counter. ‘What?’ Miranda hissed. ‘What am I trying to do? You really think if I wanted to kill you, you’d still be breathing right now?’--Cassie has second thoughts about Miranda before their flight to Rome, forcing Miranda to find another way to gain her trust.Knife-threat related sexual tension and a tiny bit of soft!Miranda. Takes place post 1x07 pre 1x08.
Relationships: Miranda Croft/Cassie Bowden
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Trust me

**_Best Western Restaurant & Bar, 7:44am_ **

Miranda watched Cassie dump another mini Smirnoff into her mug – by her count, the third in the last hour. 

‘You know the idea of coming here before the flight was to sober you up.’

Cassie downed her drink in one. ‘Yeah, well, sorry if I don’t want to be totally sober while I'm hunted by the psychopath.’

Miranda leaned back on her stool and clocked the other guests at the hotel bar. She was positive they weren’t followed, shockingly, considering Cassie reeked enough to leave a scent trail all the way to JFK. But no, the place was deserted, their only company an elderly couple enjoying stale bagels in the corner. Miranda and her drunken charge were safe. For now.

Cassie waved over the bartender. ‘Vodka rocks, please?’

‘Your stash run dry already?’ Miranda muttered, one eye on the bartender as he poured Cassie her drink.

Cassie’s hands shook so much as she picked up her fresh vodka that the drink sloshed over the sides of the glass. ‘Shit,’ she said, dabbing the spill with a scrunched up napkin and, in the process, sending the cup tumbling over the edge of the bar.

The subsequent crash made the old couple in the corner look up from their breakfast, perturbed. Miranda flashed them her most gracious smile before turning back to Cassie. ‘Listen, twitchy, you need to get it together before you’re arrested for being a fucking mess. Again.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Cassie said, frantically grabbing at more bar napkins. ‘It’s a lot, okay? I’m not fucking James Bond.’

‘That’s because James Bond was a functional alcoholic, while I’m guessing you’re barely functioning sober. Just calm down.’

Miranda was relieved to see that the old couple had returned to their bagels – but, fuck, now the bartender was watching them from the other end of the counter. He didn’t look happy. Miranda shut her eyes and eased the cool panic in her chest. She just had to get Cassie on that plane, and everything would be fine.

A sharp sting at Miranda’s throat reminded her that actually, everything was far from fine. She traced the wound there with her fingers as Cassie apologised to the bartender in that wet, bleary way of hers and received a fresh drink, served with a warning scowl. 

Miranda’s neck smarted to the touch. _Fucking Victor._ Miranda knew he never liked her, especially after all that messiness last year, but to actually send someone to kill her? After everything she’d done for him, for the company? What a fucking prick.

Drink replenished, Cassie started on a new kind of drunken babble – this one accompanied by a terrified stare directed at Miranda’s throat. ‘That– is that– did they do that to you? Is that what he’s going to do to me? Like, garrotting? No, no, I can’t, I can’t–’ Cassie’s voice rose in pitch, cutting through the low muzak of the bar. ‘I can’t do this, I can’t be _bait–_ ’

Miranda pinched Cassie’s arm and pulled her off her stool just as the frowning bartender started back towards them. ‘We’re fine,’ Miranda said, waving him away. ‘She’s bereaved,’ she added, dragging the still-babbling Cassie out of the bar and through the door marked Restroom.

Inside the bathroom, Cassie’s stream of drunken consciousness became louder and more unwieldy. Miranda surveyed the room and prayed they were alone – but, _fuck_ , the last stall door was shut. Someone else was in there, and hearing every incoherent word. Miranda shoved Cassie into an unoccupied stall and slapped her hand over her mouth, clicking the door shut behind them.

Cassie, at last, got the hint. She fell silent, her eyes wide and unblinking, Miranda's hand still pressed to her mouth. Miranda’s thoughts swirled. If it was Felix waiting for them in that last stall, they were fucked. Two against one would usually be to their advantage, but not when half of the two was busy having a blubbering, vodka-fuelled panic attack.

After a few excruciating moments, there was a creak. Miranda peered through the crack in the stall door – thank _Christ_ , it was just the old woman from the restaurant. She washed her hands, painfully slowly, and left.

Miranda allowed herself to breathe again. She removed her hand from Cassie’s mouth, and immediately regretted it. A shout erupted from her newly freed lips. ‘Help! Somebody help me!’ Cassie tripped over herself in her haste to get out of the bathroom stall and away from Miranda. ‘Help! This woman’s trying to–’

With one forceful tug, Miranda gripped Cassie's hair and shoved her against the bathroom counter. ‘What?’ Miranda hissed. ‘What am I trying to do? You really think if I wanted to kill you, you’d still be breathing right now?’

Cassie whimpered. ‘I don't– I'm–’

Miranda tightened her grip on Cassie’s hair. She leaned in close enough so that all she had to do was whisper. ‘I need you. To trust me.’ 

And she let go.

As Miranda stepped away, a strange noise came from Cassie’s throat, somewhere between a cackle and a sob. ‘Trust you?’ She frowned at Miranda, bewildered. ‘Seriously?’

Miranda was all too familiar with that look. She knew what it meant: _You’re crazier than I thought._

A loud buzz broke the silence. Miranda checked her pockets, but – shit – her phone must have fallen in all the excitement. It buzzed again, impatient, right next to Cassie’s foot.

Their eyes locked. ‘Don’t you dare–’

But it was too late. Cassie swooped down and picked up the phone before Miranda could reach it. ‘Hello?’

The voice on the other end was loud enough to be instantly recognisable: Cecilia. ‘Miranda, where the fuck are you? I know you’re not in London and Victor thinks you’re hiding Bowden somewhere– I swear to fucking God, if this is another Feldman situation–’

 _Enough of this_. In one smooth motion, Miranda pulled the knife from her pocket and held it to Cassie’s throat. ‘ _Hang. Up. Now,_ ’ she mouthed.

Cassie gulped. With a trembling finger, she ended the call.

Miranda held out her free hand for the phone and pocketed it. With a sigh, she removed the knife from Cassie’s neck. Clearly, threatening this woman just made her impossible to control. She needed a new tactic.

‘Cassie, listen to me,’ Miranda began, forcing herself to soften her tone. ‘I know this is all very scary. But I need you, even if it’s just for the next few hours, to do what we agreed on. Because otherwise, the scary men _will_ kill us. So, tell me. How can we make that happen?’

Cassie remained frozen against the bathroom counter, her breath shallow. She reminded Miranda of a rabbit that knows it’s about to be slaughtered. 

Finally, Cassie spoke, the words tumbling out in one pungent breath. ‘Okay, first, I need to know – that woman on the phone, your friend, she sounded like, like maybe she knows something–’

‘I don’t have friends,’ Miranda interrupted. ‘And she can’t help us. I told you, this is the only way. This or Montreal.’

‘But what did she mean, what’s– what’s the Feldman situation?’

 _Fucking_ Cecelia. Miranda blinked. ‘Nothing. Just an old job. Not important.’

Cassie gripped the edge of the counter with white knuckles. ‘London… Is it something to do with… With Elena? Econ professor, right?’

‘Well, fuck me,’ Miranda tightened her grip on the knife at her side. ‘Kudos for trying to blackmail while you’re this drunk, but I–’

‘–Not blackmail, not blackmail,’ Cassie said, her voice jumping an octave again as her eyes darted to the knife. ‘I just– For me to trust you, I need to know what she meant. Because I don’t want to be another Feldman situation.’

Never before had a mark been such a fucking headache. ‘Fine,’ Miranda snapped. ‘Feldman was a job of mine, last year. It was meant to be simple, but it got complicated.’

‘Complicated how?’

Miranda rolled her eyes. Was she really being forced to recall that mess, here, to this walking disaster? She comforted herself with the fact that Cassie would likely remember none of this in a few hours. 

‘I can get a little… Obsessive,’ Miranda said, carefully. ‘About my work. And with the Feldman job, I let it get… Personal. Which got in the way of me doing the job. I’m sure you can understand.’ When Cassie looked at her blankly, Miranda added, ‘What with Alex.’

‘Oh.’ Cassie blinked. ‘Oh! _That_ kind of personal. Sorry, sorry, I’m shutting up now,’ she added as Miranda’s knife-wielding hand twitched. ‘So um, is this… Am I another Feldman situation?’

Miranda smirked. The gall of this woman. She almost admired it. 

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ She checked the time. ‘We should go. Come on. I’ll get you a coffee on the way.’

‘Fine, fine,’ Cassie said, stumbling her way out of the bathroom. Miranda followed. Another Feldman situation. She really was a piece of work.

Miranda bought a coffee to go from the less-than-pleased bartender and handed it to Cassie. Her mind was already whirring with the next steps in their plan, considering every possibility, every potential problem. They would take separate taxis to JFK, and she’d have to trust Cassie to actually make it onto the plane. After that, it would be easy.

As they walked out into the brisk autumn air, Cassie asked, ‘So what happened? With the Feldman person, I mean. In the end.’

‘In the end? Well, in the end,’ Miranda hailed a taxi with a leather-gloved hand. ‘I killed her.’ 

She opened the cab door for Cassie, who was now looking rather pale. ‘See you soon. Don’t you dare miss this fucking flight.’

Miranda shut the door on Cassie with a smirk. For the first time, she was sure she wouldn't.


End file.
